The Ever Growing Itch
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Rory liked to talk, but after a month of dating? She was a little talked out. More than a little talked out. So talked out, she might take a pledge of muteness if she could just get Dean to scratch her ever-growing itch.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Ever-Growing Itch

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: There's really not a good way to preface this fic except to say it started out as a very innocent idea. So how it became what it was, well-LOL, you'll just have to see for yourself. I try to keep most of my stuff at a PG-13/T level because of personal preferences I have, but this one doesn't quite fall into that category as far as I can tell. For getting an R/M rating, it's actually kind of mild, but that's just the way it is. My main warning is this: this fic is about sex. There's not a lot of it going on, but it is discussed frequently and is the driving force behind the fic.

A/N 2: This is part of the redemptive!Dean verse, taking place a few months after "Sometimes You Do." Having read that fic in particular will be helpful to understanding some of this fic, and the Dean we see in this fic is very much the Dean that's developed over the course of the verse. Much love and thanks to geminigrl11 who beta'ed this one for me (even when I completely embarrassed her by the content in it). Also thanks to sendintheklowns who perpetually gets me to keep writing. Most of what I do is entirely her fault these days. Also, for those who are curious, this is a four part fic.

Summary: Rory liked to talk, but after a month of dating? She was a little talked out. More than a little talked out. So talked out, she might take a pledge of muteness if she could just get Dean to scratch her ever-growing itch.

-o-

"It's a nice night," she said, because really it was. Not because the weather was good, because, honestly, the weather was not that good-a little too cold and a little too cloudy so she couldn't even see the stars. And it wasn't a nice night because it was anything special, because there was a big negative on that one too. It was just a night, a typical Friday night, with work behind her and Dean right next to her.

Which, of course, was also why it was a nice night. Work behind her, Dean next to her, and they were walking to her place, hand in hand, and Rory felt _nice_.

Dean nodded benignly. "Yeah. I guess," he said.

Clearly he was not getting the same nice vibe she was. Not about the dinner, which had been bad, even for Al's. Not even about the great crepe controversy of the night, in which Kirk had come in with Lulu and tried to order it as a dessert, when the waiter clearly insisted it was a breakfast, which resulted in a fifteen minute argument full of some colorful descriptions of breakfast foods before Kirk decided he didn't actually like crepes and wanted a bison burger instead.

The fact that Al's didn't serve bison burgers had nearly made Dean choke on his soda in amusement.

So, no, that wasn't nice in particular. But her and Dean, hand in hand, touching, sharing warmth, getting _closer_-that was _nice_. Nice of the very _nicest_ variety.

"I mean, like _really _nice," she tried again, moving her arm so it wrapped around his waist. She pulled closer to him, almost snuggling as she smiled up at him. "Nice to be here with you."

His face brightened and he rubbed his hand on her arm as he pulled her even closer. "Well, I can't disagree with that," he told her, all smiles and dimples, and leaned down to kiss her gently.

Rory couldn't help it. The feel of his lips on hers made the _niceness_ just too much to bear. She returned the kiss with vigor and when he tried to pull away, she stood on her tiptoes to maintain the contact. He stiffened for a moment before melting back into her, stopping their trek and moving a hand to cup her face.

Rory couldn't be sure how long it lasted, but it was Dean who pulled away, laughing and looking uncomfortably at the ground.

She felt flush and breathless. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he said, looking a little sheepish. "I'm just not sure everyone would see just how _nice_ that is."

Everyone? On the empty Stars Hollow streets? It was currently past 10 PM. The only people out were a few daring couples, probably one gaggle of bored teenaged girls, and maybe the minister and the rabbi. Which, okay, so maybe they wouldn't appreciate such public displays of affection, but surely they could appreciate the niceness of two people sharing in the glorious God-given gift of one another?

And besides, modesty be damned! She felt _nice_; more than _nice_, nice was a not-so-nice pseudonym for really completely _turned on_.

Frustration was not the best way to express that, though. She would play coy, butter Dean up. Act sexy. Guys liked sexy because guys liked sex.

She smiled. "Well, maybe we should find a more out of the way location," she suggested suggestively, which was an odd way of thinking about it. How did one suggest things in a non-suggestive manner? But what did it matter unless Dean got the hint?

He shrugged a little. "It's getting kind of late."

It was never too late for sex, as far as Rory was concerned. "We get to sleep in tomorrow," she offered hopefully.

"I gave Gilbert the morning off."

Excuses, excuses. He was making this difficult. "But what about me?" she asked, letting herself pout just a little, because even nice girls needed to be nicely reminded of their worth and prowess.

"Well, I thought we could hang out more tomorrow," Dean said.

So much for worth and prowess. Hang out? Like they were two dudes or something wanting to play video games in their mothers' basements?

He shrugged. "I mean, I'd love to watch a movie with you or something, but I promised my mom that I'd look at the back door before I went to bed tonight."

His mother. She was making sexual overtures and he was talking about chores and _his mother_.

She would not be so easily deterred. Her libido could not afford it at the moment. Grabbing his hands in hers, she looked up at him with as much sweetness as she pleadingly could. "Maybe I could help you," she said. "We have a history with doors, you know. As we have gone through many of them together and there was that one time you hung a door and we almost kissed and that other time when we kissed against a door frame, which was wildly romantic but not very comfortable. So I could go with you, _help _you, then we could go upstairs, and I could help you some more with anything you need..."

Subtle, she was not tonight. She'd been subtle at Al's when she asked him if he wore boxers or briefs or that insanely attractive boxer-brief combinations that she did not quite understand but could not stop thinking about. She'd been subtle when he'd asked what she wanted to do tonight and she'd raised an eyebrow and asked if he was an option. But now? She felt too _nice _to be subtle.

But apparently, Dean was picking _tonight_ to be dense. Full ride at UConn and all. "Nah, it's not worth it," he said. "By the time I get it done, it'll be too late to do anything."

Not too late to do _anything_. Not too late to do what she wanted to do.

"Are you sure?" she asked, pressing herself against him. She took one hand and pulled playfully at the zipper on his jacket.

He leaned down again, kissing her, quick and perfunctory. "I'm sure," he said. "I wouldn't want you to be bored."

Sweet, yes, and no doubt with good intentions, but she was going to need a whole lot more than _that _to make it through tonight.

After all, they had been dating for over a month and, as much as she tried not to think about it, there was still no _sex_. Rory was fine with waiting to establish themselves a bit, she really was, and it wasn't like she ran loose and sat with her legs open. She wanted to do it the right way with a guy who meant something to her and, check, check, that would be Dean _right now_. They were a couple, a bonafide pair and everyone knew it. She was sure half the town already suspected they'd consummated this new go at things, so, for the love of God, why hadn't they?

Rory wasn't quite sure.

Dean liked sex, after all. She knew that from experience. And Dean was rather good at it, she knew that, too. They were good at it together. After all, the sex had been about the only functional part of their previous attempt at togetherness.

And it wasn't like they were keeping things platonic. There had been kissing galore, even a number of intimate kissing sessions that left them both red faced, breathless and giddy. But Dean never pushed it, never tried to run his hands up her shirt and fiddle with the button on her pants and all Rory could think was why the hell not?

They were attracted to each other. They both wanted it; Dean wouldn't have to go get a cold glass of water for just nothing. Once, he'd even taken a shower to avoid the inevitable truth.

And tonight-was nice. She'd waited through the one month anniversary, let him build her up with a card and flowers and a book and a nice dinner and talk and kissing and then _nothing_. So tonight, the niceness of it; was more than good enough for her.

She wanted to get jiggy with it and Dean wanted to go fix his mother's back door. She wanted it so bad she was quoting Will Smith, which meant she wanted it pretty darn bad.

Surely this was irony or poetic justice or some weirdly cruel twist of fate.

She forced a smile. Because, really, what was she supposed to do? Strip him right then and there? As appealing as that was, it didn't feel right. He was respecting her so she had to respect him-didn't she? Even if she had no idea what was wrong with him? "Okay," she said. "That sounds...nice."

He grinned back, wrapping his arm around her again as they continued their walk. "You know what would be nice for tomorrow?"

Ripping his clothes off and tying him to his bed?

"We should help your mother clean up her backyard," he said. "She's been talking about that for ages."

Annoying asexual activities for 1000, Alex.

"Wouldn't that be nice?"

She was trapped in some painfully squeaky-clean sitcom from the fifties. "Oh, yes," she lied. "That would be very _nice_."

-o-

Her mother was with Luke on the couch when Rory dragged herself through the front door. Her attempt at an elongated make out session had been interrupted by a wild screech and the slamming of a door by Babette, when Apricot apparently remembered her youthful wiles and got out the front door.

They found the thing shacking up with a stray tabby cat under a bush in Rory's yard.

Even cats were getting more action than she was.

By that time, any mood was so long gone that Rory's niceness had faded to frustration and she let Dean kiss her goodnight without any more fanfare.

Her mother and Luke seemed surprised to see her, straightening and pulling away from each other, looking flushed and far too happy.

And the horrible truth came to her.

They'd been making out. And given the rumpled appearance of her mother's shirt and Luke's sheepish and jumpy expression, they were rounding second base and were well on their way to third.

Rory had mostly reconciled herself to the idea of her mother having sex-and lots of it-and even sex with Luke. She was okay Luke staying over here and her mother staying over there because it was just one of those things. Her mother was a grown woman, with needs, because women had needs, too, and she couldn't begrudge her mother that.

But tonight? Walking in on them?

Was just plain cruel.

She mumbled a reply to her mother's breathless greeting and trudged past them to the bathroom where she closed the door and turned on the shower, nice and cold. She stood under the flow for a long time, until she couldn't think about her mom and Luke, she couldn't think about Apricot and the neighborhood stray, and, most of all, she couldn't think about Dean and his dimples and his long, strong body, which was completely hers but not hers at all.

-o-

The morning wasn't much better. It was like a hangover, only without the alcohol. Or at least without any of the intoxicated pleasure that never made it worthwhile but at least made it seem like fair compensation for the misery after.

More than that, this wasn't an affliction that would be cured by a good night's sleep, or a cup of coffee, or even a breakfast burrito.

There was only one thing that could cure this and that was the source of the problem in and of itself.

Rory didn't lounge often, at least not in bed, or at least without a book open in front of her. But nothing could quite motivate her today, especially not the thought of seeing Dean, which at this point might be more counterproductive than anything else.

She had to admit it. She had a problem. She needed to get laid.

Not that Rory often thought about that kind of thing. Really, she didn't. She had gone a long time in relationships without even approaching the subject and her first two relationships hadn't resulted in anything more than passionate kissing and some tame feeling. True, she had consummated things with Dean, which was her first taste of it all, which made it somewhat easier, she thought, to go after things with Logan.

Still, it wasn't like she needed it. Not like Logan had and even during their time apart, she had pined, but not to the extent that she may have expected (though Paris' long distance sex advice had somewhat spoiled her appetite for such things because thoughts of her and Doyle were just _not_ okay).

After Logan, there was a dry spell of course, which was only natural since she had been without a boyfriend and Rory Gilmore wasn't the kind of girl that slept around. And, if she were honest, it wasn't like there were many opportunities for it. She'd been on the road for awhile, which had made any kind of stability almost impossible, so meeting a guy and making a connection was not exactly easy. There'd been options, she supposed, but hooking up with random guys in bars seemed a bit too scurvy and way too desperate and she could never let herself get drunk enough to feel quite that stupid. Moreover, the clientele of such places? Highly questionable. And hooking up with other journalists was something she'd ruled out from the get-go. They were either too much like Logan or too much like Doyle (the _horrors_!), and she wanted something _better _than that. She wanted sex to be meaningful, part of something.

Not that there hadn't been _anyone_, but she'd be lying if she acted like it was a commonplace thing. There had been two maybe-boyfriends who had maybe-boyfriended their way into her bedroom, once in a hotel room just outside Phoenix and once in her apartment in Detroit. But one was a traveling journalist who apparently liked to follow Republicans, which was reason enough to keep to casual emails with him anyway, and the other had been a personal trainer at the gym Rory just joined, and the relationship had been so awkward that she had quit the gym after seeing him for a month in order to avoid him altogether.

Which was okay. This wasn't about the fact that she'd been deprived. It really wasn't. Rory didn't need sex, she just didn't, but now that there was Dean again, it just sort of seemed like she should have it.

Because, yes, they had a deep, intimate, intellectual connection and they had a quirky Stars Hollow vibe to bond them and they had a thousand other interests and points of discussions and emotional parallels and complementing traits that made things ridiculously fun and beautiful and fantastic so, no, it wasn't about the sex, but she wanted part of it to be. Was that really so much to ask? After all, it had been over a year since her last romp in the sack and over a month with Dean by her side and she was suddenly wishing that she hadn't denied him the one time he'd offered in his grief-stricken outburst.

Besides, this was all Dean's fault anyway, she reasoned to herself, staring at her ceiling. The man practically exuded testosterone and probably a number of other female enticing pheromones that she was simply powerless to resist.

So was he oblivious to his own power?

Was he toying with her?

Was he considering a career as a priest?

Because Rory knew all the working parts were there. She knew that he enjoyed the act, and moreover that he enjoyed the act with her, so _what _was the problem?

A loud knock came at her door. "Are you alive in there?" her mother asked.

Rory groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow.

"Because if you're dead, then I'd really appreciate some notice, so, you know, I can do all my fun stuff now and pretend like I don't know yet because once I do know, it'd probably be in bad form to go grab a burger and some fries and enjoy myself."

With another groan, Rory rolled out of bed. Stalking to the door, she opened it and leveled her mother with a glare. "Do I look alive?"

Her mother wrinkled her nose. "In the classic zombie sense of the word, I suppose."

Rory just rolled her eyes miserably and tried to close the door.

"Aw, I made coffee," her mother said. "And there's cereal. And milk. Even fresh milk. From yesterday. So it doesn't have that stale milk taste that it gets right before it turns sour, but the cereal, well, I can't guarantee the freshness of that, but you pour it in the milk and the sogginess equals everything."

Her mother sounded far too happy and chipper.

Which made sense. Her mother probably got some last night.

Defeated, Rory slunk out. "Is the coffee hot?"

"Piping," her mother said. "So sit, relax. I'll pour you a cup and make you human again."

"I don't want to be human again," Rory muttered, sitting in a chair at the table.

"So is there a reason for this sudden desire to act like a sulky teenager or are you just trying to get your kicks in since you avoided them in high school?" her mother asked, pouring a cup and putting it in front of her.

Rory grabbed it greedily, taking a sip before answering. "I'm not a sulky teenager."

"No, you're a sulky adult, which, really, isn't that much better," her mother said, plunking a bowl of Cocoa Crispies saturated with milk in front of her. "In fact, I would argue that it must be worse, because people expect teens to be sulky, so it's more of a pleasant surprise when they aren't, but they start whispering about adults who do it on a regular basis and we don't need to give Stars Hollow anything else to whisper about. They're still not recovered from the fact that the paper actually _printed_ your article lobbying to sell KY Jelly at Doose's. Which, really, _I love _and seriously admire you for, but half the town still blushes every time they see you and, I swear, certain little old ladies still glare at Dean whenever they pass the stereo shop."

Rory glowered a bit, picking up her spoon. She needed a whole lot more than KY Jelly at this point. "You're not helping."

"That's because I don't know what's wrong," her mother said. "Until I do, I can only ramble about anything that comes to mind. So sulking, KY Jelly, the many varied uses of peanut butter, the confusing health comparisons between real butter and vegetable oil spreads. And margarine. What _is_ margarine anyway?"

Rory swallowed. "Did you plan on being quiet any time soon?"

"Not particularly."

"Good to know."

"Do I have to guess?"

Rory sighed. It was still too early for this and she still felt far too frustrated to even know where to begin. "It's personal."

Her mother's look of incredulity was to be expected. "Personal? Personal? What's personal?"

"Personal as in I don't want to share it."

Her mother actually gaped. "Well, I probably didn't really want to share my _body_ with you for nine months but I did it anyway. Not to mention my house and my life and my money and my _everything_, including my clothes. Even my favorite red sweater than you inexplicably spilled taco sauce on in the ninth grade even though they don't even _serve_ tacos at school."

"How do you know?" Rory said. "You didn't go there."

"But why would a public institution waste money on tacos? The shells, the meat, the cheese, the wilted lettuce. The sauce. Not a practical use of school district assets."

"The meat wasn't real," Rory pointed out.

"Well, then no wonder you used taco sauce," her mother said. "You're still not getting out of this."

It was a pointless struggle. Her mother would find out sooner or later, much to Rory's horror and frustration. Her mother was, after all, Lorelai Gilmore, or at least a Lorelai Gilmore, and Lorelai Gilmores were invariably skilled at getting things they wanted, especially when that involved information from other people named Lorelai Gilmore. At least the second and third generations thereof.

"Is it Dean?" her mother prompted. "I mean, you and Dean. Something happen last night?"

And that was the breaking point. Rory put down her spoon. "Something _didn't _happen last night," she said.

Her mother waited. "I think you're going to have to be more specific than that. Something like a meteor didn't fall out of the sky and destroy the gazebo? Something like Taylor didn't remember to card Mrs. Dawson even though he knows for a fact that she's been legally able to buy that bottle of wine she buys every week for the past fifty years?"

"Something between me and Dean," Rory said, trying to find the best word. "Something...sexual."

That made her mother pause, tentative. "I didn't think we needed to talk the bird and the bees, did we? I mean, the more complicated part. I know we got the basics, because you and Dean sort of forced that point years ago, but I mean, there are other aspects to it that maybe we need to discuss-"

Rory shook her head. "No-just. No."

"You mean I don't have to tell you about the varied ways of mutual pleasure-"

Rory just made a face. "I'm eating."

"Okay," her mother relented. "So what didn't happen sexually?"

"Anything!" Rory exploded. "Nothing happened."

"Well, even guys have an off night," her mother said gently.

"No," Rory said. "You don't understand. Nothing happened. Nothing. He won't even feel me up good and proper."

The wheels were turning in her mother's head. "You mean-wait-you-"

Rory just nodded and waited for her to put two and two together and come up with a big fat zero.

The incredulity was nothing but genuine this time. "You mean, you and Dean haven't done the deed yet?"

"No," Rory said. "Not even close."

Her mother looked perplexed, opened her mouth and shut it, brow furrowed, before she said, "Not at all?"

"Not even a hint," Rory confirmed.

"I mean, sometimes guys, you know, need a push," her mother said. "Have you, you know, tried anything suggestive?"

"Everything short of being obvious," Rory said. "And even then. I've joked about it. Cajoled him to stick around longer for prolonged kissing in closed rooms. Practically jumped him public and made mildly obscene suggestive overtures."

"Huh. And nothing?"

"Zip, zilch, nada, nothing. Except cold showers all around."

"So he's actively avoiding it."

"And I'm actively going crazy."

Her mother still looked befuddled. "No wonder you're sulking," she said.

"I know."

"I was wondering about the shower."

"It didn't help."

"I can imagine," her mother sympathized. "I mean, all that _Dean_ and no action?"

"It is disappointment on levels you will never grasp," Rory told her as a matter of fact.

"And he hasn't said why?"

"He hasn't even talked about it!" Rory said. "All my hints, and he just wants to go home to do dishes or something else utterly inane."

"Well, I know from experience, doing dishes is a great way to kill the mood."

"Um, not helping the problem," Rory said.

"Um, I didn't realize this was something I could help," her mother said. "I mean, lots of things, sure. You get drunk, I'll pick you up. You get arrested, I'll bail you out. You lose yourself in copyediting a feature piece about the controversy surrounding the cheerleader's uniforms that Lyman can't quite keep himself serious for, then I'm there with bells on."

"Bells?"

"And a red pen. The bells are to distract you."

"How thoughtful."

"That's just the way I am." Her mother shrugged. "But getting your boyfriend to have sex with you? Seems to cross the bounds of appropriate motherly intervention."

Rory made a face. "I don't want you to be my pimp," she said, disgusted by the mere thought. Of her mother as a pimp at all, much less her pimp, and what did that make Luke? "I just want some advice!"

"Um, research how nuns do it?"

"Real advice!"

"Okay, okay," her mother relented, holding up a hand. "Just...calm down. Or try to. As much as you can while in your condition."

Rory continued glaring.

"If your advances aren't working, have you, I don't know, considered just talking to him?"

"I talk to him _every day_," Rory said. "Less talk, more action!"

"No, I mean _talking_ to him. You know, asking him about sex?"

That was a thought that hadn't quite occurred to her, and it made her pause. "Asking him?"

"Yeah, you know, sitting him down and holding his hand and looking in his deep eyes and running a hand over the muscles just lurking beneath those layers-"

"Is this going to be advice or a bad porno?"

"Sorry, got distracted."

"By my boyfriend."

"Hey, I'm just a woman. Hell, I'm only _human_-have you _seen_ that guy?"

Rory narrowed her eyes. "Does Luke know about this obsession you have?"

"And if I told you he shared it?"

Pushing her cereal away, Rory said, "I may just throw up."

"Surprisingly weak."

"You were giving me advice?"

Her mother seemed to remember her train of thought. "Yes. Right. So you sit him down and you just say, _hey, Dean, you remember all those years ago when we were having sex? I was sort of wondering if we could, you know, relive it a bit. Just for the sake of posterity._"

"That's your argument?"

Her mother shrugged. "Or some approximation thereof."

"You know, for someone who talks a lot, you're a surprisingly bad conversationalist."

"Only with people other than myself."

Rory chewed her lip. It wasn't a bad idea, and she believed in honesty, she did. She wasn't even opposed to kinky talk but the way Dean was acting-it might just be too forward. Besides, she didn't want to look like a sex-crazed idiot, did she? No matter how she was feeling at the moment. "But-I don't know. It seems, kind of forward?"

"You're the one pining here, not me."

"But isn't there another way?"

Her mother looked thoughtful. "Well," she said. "I may have a few other tricks up my sleeve, though I do not want to be responsible for the seduction of a very innocent man."

Rory stared. "You're kidding right?"

"Just because a guy is seven feet tall and has the chiseled chest of a superhero does _not _mean he's not innocent!" her mother protested. "It's his puppy dog eyes. They are killers. That's his superpower. He just guilts people into submission. One look, and bank robbers give up their loot, just like that."

It wasn't his eyes that were the problem. "You're still not telling me the plan."

"And clearly you're not appreciating the finer points of Dean as a comic book hero."

Rory would not be distracted. Her gaze was leveled and deadly. "The plan."

Her mother sighed dramatically. "All work and no play makes Rory a _very_ grumpy girl," her mother said. "Just know, I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for me, so I don't have to live with your intolerable mood."

"You think that matters?"

"Very persistent," her mother observed. "Okay. It's not that complicated. You invite him over. You make him some food-like, seriously, _make_ it. Maybe even get a recipe from his mother or something."

"I have to talk to his mother?"

"Honey, it's about the sacrifice here," she said. "You have to stick with me."

"Need I remind you of my situation here?"

"Right, right," her mother said. "It's a good thing you didn't consider becoming a nun."

"Since that was even an option?"

"You did have a small obsession with _Sister Act_."

"Well, yes, but it was funny."

"And you were seven and you didn't have problems of this nature."

"Plus, when I tried wearing a pillowcase on my head, it kept falling off," Rory said. "Really not very flattering."

"It makes your face fat, too."

This was going horribly off topic. "So since I'm not a nun, how am I going to get Dean into bed?"

Her mother shook her head, refocusing. "Right, so you make him dinner. You do salads and meat and potatoes and those little cooked carrots in brown sugar sauce he likes so much and you make dessert and you make sure there are candles and music. You two eat alone, giggle a lot, bat your eyes, the whole shebang. Flirt him up but good and be sure to wear that little blue dress, you know with the v-neck and the open back."

"I thought you said that one made me look like a slut."

"Um, hello, are you _not_ picking up on the method of seduction here?"

"Oh," Rory said. That did make sense. Cook for him, giggle with him, get all his senses aroused and see what happened.

"Now you're getting it," her mother said. "How can you really be my daughter and have no seduction skills?"

"It's never been an issue until now," Rory said, feeling cross.

"Yes, before, men were always wooed by your inherent nature. One look at you and they were throwing themselves all over you."

Rory shook her head. "You're not helping."

"Yes, I am."

"How?"

"The entire plan, hello? Was mine."

"Yes, but what about you?"

"I think me being there would defeat the purpose."

"No, but won't you come home sometime? I mean, what if we're getting there and you come in? With Luke? What would Luke do? He might actually hurt Dean!"

Her mother sighed. "The lack of sex is affecting your brain's capacity to reason."

"How can you _insult _me?"

"Babe, I'll stay at Luke's that night," her mother said. "We'll plan it out, make sure Dean has the night off _and_ the next morning off. Then we'll get the house ready for the grand seduction."

Cliche, perhaps. But desperate times? Called for desperate measures. And Rory was more than desperate at the moment.

"I still think you should talk to him," her mother said. "He's a reasonable guy. Sweet even. I'm sure there's a reason."

But Rory had talked long enough. It was time for action-and a lot of it. And if it didn't work?

Well, then talking was always a practical back up.

After all, if it didn't work, there wasn't much else she could do besides talk.

Which, wow. Rory liked to talk, but after a month of dating? She was a little talked out. More than a little talked out. So talked out, she might take a pledge of muteness if she could just get Dean to scratch her ever-growing itch.

Though, how did one take a pledge of muteness? Didn't that just defeat the purpose?

Well, was one seeming dichotomy that Rory was more than willing to find out.

"So," she said, picking up her coffee. She always did better with a focus-a focus and coffee and a mother to serve as the Rocky to her Bullwinkle. "Let's plan this project."

With a quirk of her eyebrows, her mother's smile was as sinister as it was reassuring. "Consider project Get Rory Laid underway."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to those who read the first part! Here's the second and we'll see how Rory's plan is developing. More warnings for sexual discussion in abundance from nearly every party involved. This chapter is sort of build up, so just trust me when I say this all has a point, eventually.

CHAPTER TWO

It took a week.

A long, painful week.

And Dean certainly didn't help matters. All that time he spent just standing there _looking amazing_ and the way he _smiled_ and the way his hair curled out at the end and the way his arms seemed to want to pop out from under the t-shirt he wore while checking in with Rory after his morning run...

No, that certainly _did not_ help matters.

Nor did the fact that a project called _Get Rory Laid_ meant inevitably that Rory was still not quite getting laid, which, really, was very not cool in any way, shape, or form. Especially since it made her sort of feel like a sex-crazed idiot, or maybe just sex-crazed, or maybe just an idiot, but there was not much to be done for it, except, well, get laid, and seeing as she was striving for monogamous relationship, that made the point of the project all the more relevant.

However, there was progress being made. They'd checked Dean's work schedule and found their prime night. Saturday night. He was free in the evening and the store didn't open until noon the next day and Rory knew for a fact that they didn't need to inventory this week.

So the night, that was set, but that wasn't the only thing she had crossed off her meticulously made list. Her mother was discreetly getting Luke to gather the necessary ingredients. Rory would have had Luke cook, but the idea of him being even more complicit in this activity sort of squicked her out, and she figured part of the appeal of a home-cooked meal would be that Rory cooked it herself, at home.

A bit daunting, perhaps, though her cooking skills had marginally expanded. Logan had enjoyed cooking from time to time and had made time in the kitchen fun, though her culinary skills had never really moved beyond chopping vegetables and making salads.

Which was rather fortuitous, really, as Dean did like a mean salad.

However, Dean would require more than a salad. A salad was a lighthearted sort of snacky meal. A casual meeting between friends.

It was not a sensual food, and, yes, she needed a sensual food.

Which was why Luke had offered up a recipe for a pot roast, the kind with the little potato dumplings and carrots and peas cooked right with it. Apparently, it required a little known cooking device called a crock pot and a _full day_.

The time seemed like a bit of a crock to her (ha!) but the plus side was that Dean probably knew that a pot roast took all day to cook and therefore would be more awed by her feat in preparing it.

Plus, with a full day, Luke could check in briefly to make sure that it was ruminating or crocking or whatever it did sufficiently.

Beyond that and her mad salad skills, Rory had planned some kind of strange fruit concoction for a side dish because fruit was good and fruit was very, very sensual. She needed something with peaches, lots of peaches, and a cherry or two-

"Wow, you look like you're having a nice thought," her mom said, breaking her thought. "You know you're supposed to get off on the part _after dinner_, not cooking it."

Rory scowled up at her mother, writing down peaches on her list of ingredients. "Surely you know by now not to jest."

"Surely you know by now that I can never help myself," her mother said, skirting around the kitchen table and reaching for the coffee pot. She poured herself a cup.

"Sometimes I think that I really need my own place."

"And miss out on my witty repartee?" her mother said, turning around to face her. "I doubt it!"

"Shouldn't you be at work or something?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"I own the place."

"So do I."

Rory scowled again. "I was thinking about adding fruit."

"You're throwing in everything else."

"Fruit is good, though."

"You're sort of speaking blasphemy, but you're not in your right mind, so I'll forgive you."

"Do you think Luke will know a recipe for peaches?"

Her mother's eyebrow raised. "Peaches?"

"Dean likes peaches."

Her mother chuckled. "Do I dare?"

"Prufrock, I am not."

"Probably for the best."

"So peaches?"

"I'll ask Sookie," her mother said, taking a sip.

"We need to involve _another _person?" Rory asked. "I'm trying to keep this to a minimum."

"Desperate times," her mother said. "She's more fruity than Luke is."

Rory groaned, dropping her head. "I am pathetic."

Her mother made a sympathetic sound. "Aw, hon," she said. "It happens to the best of us."

Rory looked up miserably. "It's happened to you?"

"Yeah, you know, there were those long years of my life called _your childhood_."

Rory considered that. "Children aren't worth it."

"Well, just remember that on Saturday night."

"Hey!"

"Just saying!" her mother said. "That happens to the best of us, too."

"I'm desperate, but you've lectured me enough on this topic. It's not a mistake I plan on committing, if only for your sanity."

"You get desperate enough..."

Rory made a face. "I don't need the details."

"Did you decide on music yet?"

"I swiped a bunch of his old CDs from his bedroom and downloaded a few of his favorites."

"Is he still into that generic pop rock?"

"Well, there is some Matchbox 20."

Her mother made a face that time. "Unfortunate."

"At least I can say that he's not crazy."

"Well, that's more than a little unwell."

"He also has a surprising number of hair bands."

"Well I always respect a good hair band."

"Then I picked a few that are surefire sex songs."

"Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye?"

"And several selected hits from Barry White."

Her mother grinned. "Now you're talking."

"And you bought the candles?"

"I bought out the joint," her mother confirmed. "Even bought out the ones Taylor had in storage, which, I think he may think I'm getting involved in witchcraft, and so if it starts crossing his fingers at you, don't worry, that's totally to be expected."

"Of course."

"I love how that doesn't phase you."

"It may after I'm able to think without the paralyzing weight of my libido."

"Wow, you make it hard to refrain sometimes."

"Try."

"Only for you," her mother said. "And only until Saturday."

"That's all I ask."

"You could still talk to him," her mother said. "Might make this _so _much easier."

"And miss all this planning?"

Her mother sighed, smiling a little. "There could be a reason, you know."

"Like what? He accidentally became a eunuch?"

"Wow, that's a bit sadistic to even mention."

Rory's shoulders sagged. "I just _need _him."

Her mother smiled again, resolved this time. "Less than a week, kid," she said. "You can do it."

Rory just hoped it was true.

-o-

It was Friday when Rory realized she didn't have anything to wear.

Which, yes, was rather cliche and all. The stereotypical girl having the stereotypical girl moment, looking forlornly at the open closet doors, all the hangers full of clothes, lots and lots of clothes, but _nothing_ that worked.

Though, truthfully, it wasn't her closet that was the problem. The blue dress was perfect. It had been one she had picked out for the wedding of one of Logan's childhood friends. Well, _friend_ was a bit of an exaggeration; the two had been rivals at best and had politely hated each other most of the time. It had been of the utmost importance to Logan to show just how much better off he was, and while Rory might have objected to the objectification of it all, she'd seen the pictures of the fiance: a little blonde girl with a sickeningly sweet smile and teeth that looked like they'd been sandblasted white.

And when Rory had learned that she had actually been a runner-up for Miss Connecticut, well, Rory had had no qualms about finding the perfect dress to rock her body and show the world that real beauty was a low-cut, sling back dress and a Yale education.

She'd never gotten to wear it, though. Logan had gone and proposed and the whole thing had fallen through, and after all these years, she could only be somewhat sad about that, but still very, very glad she had the dress and that her mediocre income and blessedly fast metabolism had kept her trim enough to fit it.

So she had the dress...but she didn't really want Dean to see the _dress_.

And her bras and underwear? Painfully outdated. Painfully white cotton. Her most colorful bra was decorated with _clouds_ for goodness sakes, though after so many times in the wash they looked sort of like marshmallows, and she didn't want Dean to have to contemplate what was on her bra while she was trying to seduce him into taking the damn thing off.

She could ask her mother, whom she was sure had a decent assort of lingerie or at least some kind of playful undergarments, but no matter how close mothers and daughters could be, sharing underwear was a little gross, and at this point, Rory wasn't sure she wanted to know what her mother wore when she was feeling frisky with Luke. After all, that would require some kind of mental image of her mother getting frisky with Luke, which was more than Rory's poor, sex-deprived brain could handle at the moment.

So, it was time to shop.

Which was good. She liked shopping. More than that, she needed the distraction while she pined wildly as she moped about. The paper could handle a day without her-she hadn't been much use there lately, anyway, since she kept seeing sexual innuendo in Miss Patty's latest interview. Which, to be fair, there _was_, and in excess, but that still didn't mean she should be wallowing in it.

So, shopping. Apt distraction, necessary step in project _Get Rory Laid_.

But who should she go with? She could not be trusted on her own, not when the merest suggestion of anything provocative made her start salivating and sometimes thrust her into sordid daydreams that resulted in long periods of staring at nothing.

Her mother was working-which, she did have to do from time to time, and Rory wasn't sure she could even hold up under another round of her mother's incessant good-willed but far-too-pointed banter.

Which left...

Rory frowned. Usually she shopped with her mother. If not her mother, sometimes Dean, who was very good-humored about it. But he was working and buying lingerie to impress him would not be so successful if he was there, anyway. She had shopped with her grandmother before, who surely had an open social calendar, since Rory knew the DAR didn't like to meet on Fridays, and that her busy day at the club was usually on Tuesdays. Still, she couldn't shop with her grandmother for this.

Once upon a time, she would have asked Lane, no hesitation. Lane was her best friend, after all.

But Lane had three kids. She probably had her own sexual problems to figure out.

Still, Lane's shifts at the diner weren't every day, and Mrs. Kim was a reliable and steadfast babysitter. So maybe Lane was an option, and maybe even a good option. After all, Lane had had her own sexual escapades a few years ago, and since she and Zack were still she-and-Zack even after three kids, then, really, maybe Lane was sort of the ideal person to go with.

Resolved, Rory pulled out her phone, flopping on her bed with a sigh as she dialed Lane's number.

Someone answered on the third ring, harsh and out of breath. "What?"

Rory raised her eyebrows. "Hi, um, Zack?"

"Yeah, it's Zack," he replied, sounding somewhat annoyed this time.

"I was just wondering if Lane was around."

"Yeah, she's around," Zack said shortly.

Rory waited for more. When it was clear nothing more was forthcoming, she followed up. "Can I talk to her? It's Rory."

"She's, uh, kind of busy right now," Zack said.

"The kids?" Rory asked.

"No, the kids are at their grandmother's."

"Oh," Rory said. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be on tour?"

"We're playing a gig in Baltimore tomorrow night, so we've got a quick layover in town. A really quick layover, but I thought it might be nice to, you know, see the kids."

"Who are at their grandmother's," Rory said awkwardly.

"And, you know," Zack said. "See Lane."

"Yeah, that must be nice," Rory said. "I hear the tour is going well. And the record sales are up. Which is pretty impressive, I think. How is Brian handling the road?"

"Uh, he's, you know, taken to naming all the microphone stands so he feels like he has friends," Zack said.

Rory had to smile. "Yeah, I can see him doing that. And how's Gil?"

Zack sighed. "Gil's fine," he said. "And you know, I really don't have much time here, you know? I have to head out here in a few hours and we have to pick up the kids in twenty minutes and I haven't seen Lane in _weeks_, and I was sort of hoping we could spend some time. Just me and Lane, you know?"

Rory was nodding along good and proper when she understood the nuance. "Oh," she said. "_Oh_."

"Yeah," Zack said.

Rory and her impeccable timing had managed to infringe on a married couple's one shot in three weeks to spend some time together. With so little time, Rory couldn't help but think that they had more on their agenda than sipping coffee and reminiscing.

In fact, they were probably trying to do the deed right then. For all she knew, Zack was naked talking on the phone with her while Lane was lounging in lingerie back in the bedroom.

Which was not an image she needed. It had taken her a few weeks to forget the thought of Lane and Zack consummating their relationship in a misguided attempt on the beach in Mexico, so the thought of Zack standing in the kitchen buck naked and breathless while Rory made small talk?

Too much. Way too much.

"I'll call back later," she offered.

"Thanks, Rory," Zack said. "Really."

"It's nothing," she said.

"But it really is. You have no idea."

She hung up before she could hear any more, mostly because she was pretty sure she did have an idea, a really good idea, and therein was the problem.

-o-

"I can't believe Zack told you to call back," Lane said later, shaking her head.

Rory flipped through the bras on the rack and shrugged. "It sounded important."

"Well, it was important," Lane said as she pulled out a lacy pink bra. She made a face and held it up for Rory. "Who would wear this? All that lace means its hand wash only and it looks like it'd itch."

"I think it's supposed to help set the mood," Rory said, picking a red one off the rack. It was encrusted with rhinestones. "And trust me, considering the mess I'm in, I would never begrudge someone else."

Lane shook her head. "I can't believe that after everything, Dean's the one who's holding out," she said. "And when you've got three kids, you don't need to set the mood. You just need three minutes and a clean place to get it done."

Rory made a face. If such simple tactics would have worked, she would have been successful by now. And really, though this wasn't their first or second or third or whatever time, it was sort of like their first time. Their first time back together when it was all okay and they loved each other and all that good stuff. I had to be _special_. And pretty damn compelling if Dean's sudden interest in chastity was any indication. "Yes, well, I was thinking of setting the scene a bit more enticingly for Dean."

Lane nodded noncommittally. "The blessed days of being new and in love," she said. Then her brow furrowed. "I sound old, don't I? I'm getting old."

Rory had to laugh. Lane was still young and vibrant and beautiful. Adulthood, marriage, motherhood: they suited Lane. Took her neuroses and provided them a structured outlet. "No, I think you're just getting wiser."

Lane stopped, her mouth dropping open. "No, I think I'm actually getting old," she said. "I mean, for one thing, none of these would even come close to supporting me now. Breastfeeding is murder on your boobs. It's, like, ridiculous. Now I have to wear a C just so they don't flop all over the place."

Rory made a face. "That's really not an image I needed."

"Oh, sorry," Lane said. She picked out a yellow bra that was well padded. "A little extra padded might still be nice for your pre-baby self."

Rory took the bra, but couldn't bring herself to look at it. The idea of a baby was not exactly something that parsed in her sex-starved mind "I wasn't positive there was going to be a post-baby self," she said, trying not to envision a little crying thing latched to her chest. "I just want to have sex."

"Oh, yes, don't we all," Lane said, with a knowing nod of her head. "That's how it starts, anyway."

Again, not so pleasing to think about and really quite distracting. Committing to Dean did not mean she was ready to commit to harboring his sperm so they could bond with her eggs. "Um, I asked you out here to help me prepare, not to scare me off," Rory reminded her friend.

"Ack! I'm sorry!" Lane said. She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "So, let's talk about you. And Dean. And you and Dean." She paused, thoughtful. "You really have no idea why he's not into it?"

Rory gave a longsuffering sigh, her painfully lonely sex drive bringing her back to the point. "None," she affirmed miserably. "He just...avoids it."

Lane frowned, picking up a thong with a look of disdain. "What makes you think lingerie will do the trick?"

Rory picked up the discarded thong, giving it a more thorough look. She had never been the one for racy undergarments, though Logan had invested in some on her behalf. He had said that it made things exciting. She had taken his word for it, but maybe it had been sage advice. If it worked, she would have to thank Logan, though that could be kind of awkward. "I'm more hoping that once he sees me in it, he won't be able to say no."

Lane nodded, a bit impressed. "Rory Gilmore, scheming seductress."

"Pamela, I am not."

"The one Proverbs warned against," Lane said with a satisfied look.

"Exactly," Rory said. "So I need something foolproof."

Lane quirked an eyebrow. "Foolproof, huh?"

"Dean is playing quite hard to get," Rory said. "Resisting even after makeout sessions."

Lane whistled a low breath. "Men that with much fortitude are hard to come by. Especially since it's not like you two haven't done the deed already."

"I know!" Rory said, and that was the thing. He had no reason to be nervous and it wasn't like he had to protect her integrity, so the entire idea that he was waiting was just so perplexing. Frustrating, perplexing, but not insurmountable. "So I figure I just have to woo him a bit better."

"Oh, wooing," Lane said, with a new excitement. "I love wooing!"

Rory's smile was triumphant. She picked up a green bra and held it against a green pair of boy shorts. "So, what do you think? Woo-ful enough?"

Lane thought for a moment, but shook her head. "Rory, if you're serious in your wooing seduction, then we've got to get away from this stuff."

Rory frowned, rather pleased with her pairing abilities. The greens matched nicely. "But it's cute."

"Cute?" Lane asked. "You don't want _cute_. You need to think bigger. You need to think about Dean being so completely floored that he doesn't remember _how_ to say no."

That was the general idea. Her interest was more than somewhat piqued. "So how do we do that?"

Lane took a deep breath. "You're going to have to trust me," she said. "The world of what men _really_ want is not always a pleasant place."

For the first time, Rory felt tentative. But her libido was crying out. She nodded, resolved. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure?" Lane asked.

Rory nodded again. "Take me there."

Lane drew a deep breath. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."

-o-

Lane did warn her.

It wasn't enough.

"You're kidding, right?" Rory asked incredulously. "I don't even know what to _do _with that."

Lane did not lower the garment. Her face twisted in something resembling disdain, but her best friend bravely went forward with her explanation. "You wear it over your underwear. A thong works best."

Rory eyed it critically. "What are these for?" she asked, pointing to four long straps dangling from the bottom.

Lane rolled her eyes. "Are you sure you've been in an adult relationship before?"

Rory scowled. "Logan was a bit more high brow in his tastes." The kinkiest it had gotten was when they had role played a scene from _Amadeus_. Rory hadn't so much enjoyed the corset, but Logan had giggled just like in the movie, so it all evened out.

Lane laughed. "Trust me, high brow, low brow, no brow, there's no guy who can resist this stuff. We just have to get some silk stockings and a teddy and we'll be all set."

"Silk stockings? Really?" Rory asked. It was possible that she had underestimated the lengths she would have to go for this.

Funny thing, though. It wasn't going to stop her. Nothing was going to stop her. A pair of silk stockings for Dean? A small sacrifice for the greater good of her sanity and sexual well-being.

"What do you think the strings attach to?"

Rory looked it a minute longer before the visual came to her. "Oh," she said, remembering the one time she'd perused a wayward copy of a Victoria's Secret catalog. For all the things her mother had taught her, somehow the portion related to racy lingerie had been skipped. Perhaps in lieu of obscure 80s movies or 70s hippie bans. But all that Yale education, and she was still good for a simple deduction. "_Oh_."

Lane nodded with a patient smile. To think there'd been a time when Lane had been the naive novice and Rory had been the expert. "Now you're starting to get it."

Rory picked up the piece, sorting through the pile of underwear. "So, do you and Zack, you know, still do this stuff?"

Lane's snort of laughter was short. Then she swallowed it back. "You're serious," she said. She paused for a moment, thinking. "Well. Zack and I have always sort of have had a weird thing when it came to sex."

Rory remembered the awkward conversation about Lane's honeymoon. Awkward for Lane on that beach in Mexico. Awkward for Rory talking about it in the town gazebo. Awkward all the way around, especially since Lane had gotten pregnant from her first time and Rory liked sex and she liked babies in the abstract, but sex leading _to_ babies was a bit more than she wanted to think about.

"And then we had the twins so quickly that it was sort of like, so much for that!" she said.

"So it never got better?" Rory asked, suddenly wondering why she hadn't been a better friend to know that. She should know that. That was what best friends did.

Though, in terms of sharing sex stories, Rory wouldn't have had much to bring to that conversation in recent years anyway, so maybe it was for the best that they'd let this topic lapse for so long. She didn't need to be reminded of how pathetic she was when she already felt it aching deep within her with every move she made.

"Oh, no," Lane said quickly. "It got better. I mean, hello, it couldn't get worse."

Rory laughed, almost relieved. Because the thought of her friend being sexually frustrated for years on end not only made her hurt with empathy, but made her feel like a horrible friend for not being there to support her. In the end, she wasn't sure what would have been worse. That they'd been in the same sexless plight or that Rory had failed as a best friend.

"We hit our stride when I was done breastfeeding the twins," she said. "Suddenly, my body was mine again and I realize how much of me I hadn't experienced. And, trust me, after you squeeze two babies out, things are much looser down there. It got _much_ better."

Conveniently overlooking the idea of breastfeeding, Rory had to smile. She wasn't so starved that she couldn't appreciate Lane's success. "See, I told you it wasn't all bad."

"Oh and you were right," Lane agreed with a real fervor. "Really right. We did all sorts of crazy things whenever we got the chance. I mean there's a lot of stuff for a creative couple out there. Zack got really into positions."

Positions. That was...graphic. Though Zack did seem quite limber and Lane really could have been a gymnast and she really did not need to be thinking about this. "Well, I'm not sure I need that many details," Rory said, though perhaps some ideas would be nice. She and Logan had tried some things, but that really did seem like a long time ago.

A _really _long time ago.

She so needed to get laid.

Lane shrugged, holding a bra up. "But then after awhile you sort of realize that it's not about the clothes and it's not about the setting."

Rory frowned a bit, holding up a piece of lingerie to the rest of her ensemble. "Then what is it about?"

Lane smiled fondly. "Just me and him," she said. "The two of us, being together. I mean, okay, I know it's cheesy, but it makes the two become one stuff make sense."

It was enough to make Rory stop. To stop and really look and listen and think. The two of them, being together. Lane and Zack. Her mother and Luke. Her grandparents. Couples that worked, no need for jockeying for position or working for an advantage. Just love, and all that entailed.

Just her and Dean, being together. Two become one.

She'd never thought of it like that, but now that she did, she couldn't deny how much it appealed to her. The thought of spending her life with Dean, with wearing his ring around her finger, waking up with him morning after morning for the rest of her life.

"I'm boring you," Lane said. "I'm sorry. Sheesh. My one opportunity to be a real person and I screw it up by talking about my family!"

"No, no," Rory said quickly, because Lane was missing the point. "It's just...really nice to hear that."

Lane was looking at her, then her eyes lit up. "You really do love him, don't you?"

Rory couldn't help it. She blushed. "Yeah," she said. "Maybe in the whole two become one kind of way."

"Well," Lane said with a mischievous grin. "At least after this weekend we can say that literally."

Rory's mind shifted back to her bodily needs, and she nodded, adding a lacy piece of see-through lingerie to her growing collection. "Yes, please," she said. "And I do mean, _please_."

Lane just laughed. "With all this, he won't know what hit him," she assured Rory.

Rory's smile was triumphant. "Which is exactly what I'm going for."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: One more chapter of preparation before the big night. Hopefully Rory's slow torture is worth the read :)

CHAPTER THREE

She was almost there. The long and painful days came and went. She did her job, she talked to her mother, she smiled at people she passed on the street. She had her lingerie, she had Dean's schedule set, she had the menu ready to go. She even managed to hang out with Dean without ripping his clothes off right then and there.

The last had been pretty hard, though. Especially the day he wore his tightest pair of jeans that hugged his butt just _so nice_.

Ugh.

One more day.

_One more day_.

She'd made it this long; she could surely last one more day before she completely imploded.

Her mother was mostly sweet about it, more sympathetic than cruel, which was some help. She even dragged Rory on a series of pointless and distracting activities. Lunch at Luke's. Game night with the four of them. A poetry reading at Miss Patty's. Ice cream at Taylor's.

And Friday Night Dinner.

At least some things never changed. Her grandmother had greeted them, leading them into a parlor before serving drinks. Rory sipped hers, crossing her legs in as ladylike a fashion as she could, wishing she could have asked for something stronger to take the edge off.

Though, she had to admit. Just being in her grandparents' house had a nice, muting effect on her libido. She should have just camped out here all week.

"Where's Grandpa?" Rory asked, as cordially as she could.

"Oh, finishing up some business," her grandmother said with a shrug. "And double-checking our guest list for tomorrow night."

"What's tomorrow night?" Rory asked, ever politely. Just because she was going insane on the inside didn't mean that she couldn't put on airs with the best of them.

"Oh, just a little soiree," her grandmother said. "It's important to keep up appearances, you know. If you don't put on a show every now and then, it looks lazy. Lorelai, I can still count on you and Luke, I assume?"

"Oh, we'll be here," her mother chimed in with poorly feigned enthusiasm. "With bells on. Or, I'll wear the bells. He'll just be here."

"Lovely," her grandmother said. Then she paused, taking a drink. She raised an eyebrow at Rory. "Your mother says you'll be otherwise occupied tomorrow night."

Rory cocked her head, not quite catching the insinuation. "Otherwise occupied?"

Her grandmother's smile was mischievous; it should have been a tip off, but Rory was hopelessly clinging to the vestiges of her fledgling dignity. "Your little date of sorts with Dean."

"Just a little date," her mother said quickly. "Little. Nothing to it. Dinner, hi, bye. That's all."

Rory looked at her mother. Lorelai was backpedaling. Massively.

"Oh, Lorelai," her grandmother said. "We don't need to play so coy about all this. We're all grown women here."

Rory's mind reeled, trying to put two and two together and come up with an answer that didn't make her brain explode. "Wait. What?"

"I just happen to think it's perfectly acceptable us to be able to discuss these matters," her grandmother continued. "Young couples need to have time to take their relationship to the next level. If things are that serious between her and Dean, then I certainly think it's acceptable for them to spend time together in that way."

Rory couldn't help it. She was feeling blindsided and dumb and dumbly blindsided. They had to be talking about something else. Didn't they? "In what way?"

Her grandmother leaned in, cupping a hand over her mouth. "You know. _Sex_."

Horror washed over her. Rory gaped, looking in disbelief at her mother. "You told her?"

Her mother's mouth opened and closed. She shrugged with a meager pittance of apology. "I may have mentioned that you had other plans tomorrow night."

Rory couldn't believe it. "You couldn't have just said I have a date?"

"They wouldn't accept that!" her mother said defensively. "I said _Rory can't come, she has a thing with Dean_, and she said _she should just bring Dean_, and I said _that wouldn't work so well_ and she said _why not_ and I tried to say that Dean had contracted a rare and unusual disease that very well could be contagious and the next thing you know, she's either going to call the CDC or take you into hiding, so I cracked."

"Oh, Rory, don't worry about it," her grandmother said primly. "I am not nearly that out of touch."

Rory shifted uncomfortably, wincing. "Um, thanks?"

"I will admit, at first the idea of it did give me some pause," her grandmother said. "But I was young once, too, you know. Don't think that I overlook just how lucky those of us who are married are, able to get it whenever we want."

Her mother yelped. "Oh, God, my ears!"

Rory nearly choked on her drink. "Wow, Grandma," she said, clearing her throat and putting her drink down. "That's...good of you."

Her grandmother shrugged nonchalantly. "The Gilmore women do tend to burn quite hot."

"Okay, then," her mother said shortly, taking a long drink. She swallowed hard. "Awkward conversations you should never have with your mother for two thousand, Alex."

Her grandmother rolled her eyes. "Oh, really, Lorelai, you think you were the first one to discover all the interesting places to...do the deed in this house."

Rory's eyes widened.

Her mother coughed hard on her drink, spilling some of it.

"Well, I'll be," her grandmother said. "I never pegged you for a prude, Lorelai."

"Prude? Me?" her mother asked. "No, no prude. Just hoping to maintain my sanity by blocking the image of my parents doing it on the maid's closet."

"We always did prefer the butler's pantry."

Rory made a face.

Lorelai drained the rest of her drink with a wince and a swallow before she stood abruptly. "Wow, look at that. My drink is out. I'm going to go...find the bottle and drink it all before I come back, okay?"

Rory looked at her beseechingly, but her mother walked past her without stopped. _Traitor_.

Her grandmother was still sitting, unfazed, sipping her own drink. "Honestly, your mother does surprise me. I can't see why we can't have a perfectly civilized conversation about these topics."

Probably because there were some topics Rory didn't like to discuss with her grandparents, and her own sex life was just below her grandparents'. At least her mother left before the topic of her and Luke had come up because all that imagery? Everyone else getting it on in her family? Was nearly enough to kill her desire to consummate things with Dean.

"Well," Rory said with a forced smile. "It is just a bit...surprising."

Her grandmother frowned. "Surprising that a married couple still enjoy each other?"

Yes, that. Yes, yes, yes, _yes_, that. She managed to compose herself, though she was not sure how. "Well, and just that. I mean. You're okay with. You know. Me. And Dean."

"Oh," her grandmother said. She took a slow drink. "Well. I can't say that the idea of it didn't give me some due hesitation. I mean, my issues with the boy aside, you are my only granddaughter."

"You'll have to talk to my mother about that," Rory offered, grateful for any deflection away from her and Dean, even if it was her mother and Luke (which, no, she was still not really ready to think about that, like _ever_).

Her grandmother snorted. "Oh, don't think I haven't tried."

Wow, more awkward conversations. She wasn't sorry she'd missed that one.

"But I just know that you're not sixteen anymore," her grandmother said. "There are many virtues to waiting, don't get me wrong, and I still think that's the best way to go about it. But, I'm not naive, Rory. I am aware that this will not be your first time."

Yes, and how could Rory forget the sex intervention her grandparents had tried to pose way back when. Complete with the minister and all.

"You're a beautiful, strong, intelligent woman," her grandmother continued. "If you and Dean are serious, if he makes you truly happy, then I would never want to begrudge you that."

It was surprisingly sane and surprisingly accommodating. She had always basked in her grandparents' love and attention, but she'd always figured certain things were off limit. Certain truths about her life, certain longings that she had. Her grandparents' world had always seemed somewhat narrowly structured and unlike her mother, Rory had never felt the urge to shatter those restraints carelessly.

So this level of acceptance. It was unexpected.

But very good.

"So, if you need tomorrow night to, what do the kids say? Get jiggy with it? Then I won't say anything to contrary."

Yet still totally awkward. It had been weird enough to quote Will Smith herself, and hearing her grandmother attempt a similar allusion was downright unsettling. "Get jiggy with it?"

Her grandmother looked concerned. "Isn't that the right phrase?"

Perhaps in 1999. But Rory just nodded, trying to stay serious. "No, it's right."

Her grandmother beamed. "Very good!" she said. Then she leaned forward. "Let me just say, the best way to make a man go crazy? Strawberries."

"Strawberries?"

Nodding seriously, her grandmother looked around surreptitiously. "As many as you can get. To eat. A fragrance. Makes your grandfather go _wild_."

And if it hadn't been weird enough, that was about Rory's limit. Her grandmother's blessing on her sex life, sure, okay. Knowing that her grandmother still liked to get jiggy with it, why not? But knowing what turned her grandfather on?

No.

Just...no.

Even her grandparents were getting more than she was.

And why did she suddenly feel very, very nauseous?

"Rory, are you okay, dear?"

Rory looked up. "What? Oh. Yeah."

"Good," her grandmother replied. "Why don't I go check on dinner." She stood up, putting her glass down. "Oh, and while I may be _down_ with all this, let's not tell your grandfather."

Rory nodded numbly, trying to figure out if this had all really just happened. Maybe she had been abducted by aliens. This could be an alternate dimension. Some sick experiment to see how normally sane people act under completely surreal situations.

She took another drink. When she found herself still in the parlor, she nodded again. "I completely agree," she said, for the complete lack of something more intelligent to say. Her Yale education had not prepared her for this.

_Nothing_ could have prepared her for this.

The horrors. It would take all night to just get the dirty feeling out of her brain.

Her grandmother rubbed her hands together. "Wonderful, I'll be right back," she said, and as she passed, she leaned in close to Rory's ear. "And for extra fun? Bring the whip cream."

And there it was. The straw that broke the camel's back. One piece of information too much and her composure, her tact, it was all gone. Gone, gone, gone. Just like Rory's sanity and her chance at normal mental health for the rest of her life.

Needless to say, Rory had never made better time to the bathroom.

-o-

Saturday.

The culminating day of _Get Rory Laid_. Complete with household cleaning, atmosphere set up, and seduction cooking.

At least by calling it seduction cooking, it made the process a little more fun to get into. And at this point, she needed anything she could get, because wow, either that crock pot let off a lot of steam or she was having some epic hot flashes.

The roast was cooking, the candles were in place, and the place was immaculate. She'd dusted, and she hated dusting. She'd even gone so far as to put silk sheets on her bed, relegating all her old stuffed animals to the chair by the window. And yes, that was strawberry room spray she'd used because it really couldn't hurt at this point.

Though she really did wish she had a bigger bed. She hadn't thought about it so much the first time around, but then again, she hadn't really thought about much of anything the first time around.

It had all happened so quickly that time. It had just be her and Dean, Dean and her, and he had been standing there, wanting her, begging for her, and she hadn't wanted to refuse. It didn't matter that he was married, it didn't matter that it was wrong, he had always been hers for the taking and sometimes Rory liked to be selfish.

His hands had been so large, perfectly cupping her face. His lips had been so soft, pressing gently into her own. His breath had been so hot, steaming down her throat and moving her in a way no one had ever moved her before.

When they'd gone down to the bed, entangled in one another, the atmosphere had been the last thing on her mind.

The memory made her sweat again, and she undid the top button on her blouse, blowing out a slow breath. This time of reminiscing was not so good at the moment. As if she didn't have enough problems without thinking about how _good_ Dean could be.

Because he had been good. For all of his passion, it has been slow and gentle, like he knew what he was doing. He had whispered in her ear, asking her what she wanted, asking if she really wanted this and all Rory could say was _more, more more_.

It'd been rushed, for both of them. Too fast and not fast enough. Because when it was over, they hadn't even gotten under the sheets and Dean was throwing on his pants with his wedding ring still on.

And all that ecstasy, the joy of being with him, had fallen horribly short by that look on his face, by the way he'd tucked tail and run-back to Lindsay.

But that was then.

This was now.

There was no Lindsay. There would be no unmade bed and books on the floor. She was ready. _They _were ready.

"Oh, wow, can you _smell _that?" her mother's voice came from the kitchen.

"It's called cooking," Rory called out, heading back toward her cooking extravaganza.

Her mother was poking in the over. "You even made the pie!" she exclaimed. She closed it, looking at Rory with pride. "I have a daughter who can make pie!"

"Yeah, well, I bought a pre-made crust, so don't tell Dean," she said.

"Well usually I just buy the pre-made pie, so who am I to judge?" her mother said. She lifted the lid to the crock pot. "Wow, kid. I'm impressed."

Rory offered her a smile. "Well, I am highly motivated."

Her mother replaced the lid. "Yes, there is that," she said. "But wow. Everything looks great. You think you're ready?"

"House is clean, food is cooking. I've just got to change my clothes, turn on some music, and I think we're in business."

"No, I mean, are you sure you're _ready _ready."

Rory cocked her head. "Did I not just delineate my checklist for you?"

Her mother sighed. "No, I know you're getting ready. But like. Emotionally. You sure you're up to this?"

This gave Rory something to consider. She'd been so driven by physical need that emotions hadn't really had much to do with it.

Her mother shrugged. "I mean, I know you know what you want, but, I don't know. It's a big thing. Even if you've done it before technically, you're both different people now. It'll be a very different thing. And I just want to make sure, I don't know. That you're prepared?"

Understanding dawned over her. "Oh, wow, this is the sex talk, isn't it?"

"What?" her mother asked. She shook her head, as if the notion were ridiculous. "No, of course not. I know you've been here and done that with more guys than Dean."

"But I never talked to you before my first time," Rory remembered. And she remembered how upset her mother had been, how she'd reminded Rory none too gently that she was the other woman. There'd been hurt and disappointment.

"Rory, this has _nothing _to do with that," her mother insisted.

"Well, maybe it should," Rory said. She gave a small shrug. "Maybe I should have asked you the first time."

"Of course you should have," her mother replied easily. "But not because I needed to okay or something, but just because. You're my kid. It's a big step. And I just like to know that even when you're going on your physical needs, you're not forgetting that the other stuff matters, too."

It was so her mother, and so not her mother. Yes, her mother was the type to want to know these things, the one who wanted to celebrate her victories and mourn her defeats. But the level of wisdom sometimes still shocked her. Remembering that they were both actually adults now could still take her off guard.

Adults, friends, whatever. Lorelai was still her mother and Rory was so _glad_. "I'm ready for it," she said. "And not just in the I'm-going-to-lose-my-mind-if-I-don't-get-some kind of way, but in the I-really-love-Dean kind of way."

Her mother was looking at her, smiling. Then she nodded. "And the fact that Dean's totally hot I'm sure has nothing to do with it."

The moment was shattered. Rory's face scrunched into a stare. "Why are you ogling my boyfriend?"

"Oh, what's the harm," her mother said. "If he's not putting out for you, then I highly doubt I'm a contender."

"Ugh, gross," she said. "First Grandma, and then you."

"Grandma hit on Dean?"

"No, but she regaled me with suggestions about how to woo a man."

It was Lorelai's turn to grimace. "Oh, God."

"I know," Rory agreed. "I will never look at strawberries the same way."

"Strawberries?"

Rory nodded knowingly. "Grandpa's favorite."

"Oh. Wow. That's. No wonder the house always reeked of the stuff whenever Dad came back from a trip."

Rory shifted uncomfortably. "Well, hey, at least all this talk of Grandma and Grandpa has made me stop sweating for the time being."

"Yes, because now you probably want to vomit like I do."

"Indeed," Rory said. "So, are you headed off?"

Her mother seemed to recover marginally. "Luke and I are off to the parents for the party. Though we may not stay very long now. The imagery is just too disturbing."

"What if they serve strawberry short cake?"

"Even if it was a strawberry daiquiri, I'm pretty sure I'd abstain."

"Good move," Rory said.

Her mother took a breath, lingering for a minute more. Then she looked at Rory, a bit more seriously. "So you're good to go?"

Rory smiled. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Spoken like a true woman," her mother said. "Well, I won't expect to hear from you. Then maybe in the morning we can share stories."

"Or maybe not," Rory said.

Her mother grinned, moving to the back door. "Maybe compare secrets?"

"Goodbye, Mom," Rory said definitively.

Her mother winked at her. "Knock 'em dead, kid," she said, opening the door.

When the door shut behind her, Rory pulled out a chair and plopped down in it. A week of prep work, months of waiting. A lifetime. All for tonight.

All for Dean.

And was she ready?

She may not have been ready that night when Dean first came to her. She may not have been ready the first time she slept with Logan. She may not have been ready for a lot of things. But this?

Oh yes. She was _definitely _ready for this.

As far as she was concerned, Dean wouldn't even know what hit him.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hopefully all the build up is worth the reveal :) Thanks again! There should be more to the verse sometimes in the not so distant future, if I can ever get my act together to get it polished!

CHAPTER FOUR

It was perfect.

The house, the food, the music, the lighting. The roast was moist, the dessert was succulent, the wine was rich. The ambiance was spectacular. With flickering lights and soft music, the house had never looked so alluring.

And Rory was not necessarily prone to vanity, but she looked pretty darn good, if she did say so herself. The dress fit her like a glove, revealing but not too much. Her new bra certainly did the trick and she had to admit, as gaudy as her undergarment selection had been, the silk stockings really did pull it together nicely. A nice pair of black pumps, a dabbing of sheer makeup, and she was good to go.

When Dean finally rang the doorbell at quarter after six, Rory had been through the plan fifteen times in her head. Invite him in. Serve some appetizers on the couch. Take him into the kitchen where dinner was served and waiting. Make cute chitchat, sit next to him, feel his leg, take him to the bedroom for dessert.

Literally. Figuratively. _Every way possible_.

Fool proof.

Everything she wanted.

Perfect.

It was a funny moment, standing there. Knowing Dean was right outside, knowing everything she had planned. She'd waited so long and now she had no regrets. This was it, she realized. Perfection in the making.

And she was _so _ready.

She opened the door.

Dean was standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets. One look at him, and her heart skipped a beat and it took everything she had not to attack him right there.

One look at her, and his face went startlingly blank. "Um. Hi," he said. He glanced around nervously, eyes lingering on Rory. "Um. Are we going out and I missed the memo?"

"What? No!" Rory said quickly, taking him by the hand. "Come in, come in."

He allowed himself to be pulled inside, his look of uncertainty deepening as he saw the living room. "Wow. Um. You've been busy," he commented.

She led him to the couch, sitting down and pulling him next to her. "Well, I figured you could use something a little more...restful."

Dean nodded slowly. "Right," he said, looking non-too-subtly at the candles on the coffee table. He swallowed, smiling awkwardly. "You look. Really nice tonight."

Rory beamed. That had been the general idea. "Thank you."

Dean looked down at himself. His pants were casual work pants, and he was wearing a button up that was tucked in. "But I feel sort of underdressed."

She laughed, trying not to sound hysterical. She'd been thinking just the opposite. "Don't worry," she assured him. "You're perfect."

His face warmed to that, a strange smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I think you're perfect, too," he said, leaning into peck her on the lips.

Rory's hormones flared and she bit her lip when he pulled away. Reaching out to the table, she picked up the plate of snacks. "Pig in a blanket?" she offered.

Surprised, he plucked on off. "You actually made pigs in a blanket?" he asked, almost a little awed. "With real little weenies?"

Weenies. Dean wasn't making this any easier.

She was cool and in control. She let it pass. "And real crescent rolls," she said proudly.

He popped it in his mouth, chewing happily. "That's amazing," he said.

"Then you'd better have more than one," she suggested. He could have as many as he wanted as long as she got what she needed in the end.

He took another, eating it in a single bite. "So what brings this on? Candles, music, cooking?"

She shrugged. "Can't a girl just do something for her boyfriend."

His eyes narrowed playfully. "Yes, but usually you just buy me a book or surprise me with takeout."

"Well, we're stepping it up a notch," Rory said. "In fact, I have another surprise for you."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Another one?"

More than one, but no need tipping him off now. "But it's in the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" he asked. "Rory, you did not make dinner, did you?"

"And what if I did?" she asked grinning.

"You could have hurt yourself!"

She laughed. "That's true, and I will admit, I had a close call while chopping carrots. But between me, you, and the carrot peeler, I had it covered the entire time."

He opened his mouth. Then shut it. "Wow," he said. "This must really be a special night if you're cooking. I didn't miss an anniversary or anything?"

Well, Rory hoped to create an anniversary, but that wasn't something to discuss now. "And if I said yes?"

He laughed, leaning close to her. "Then I'd have to call you a liar."

"With all this hard work, that's all I get?" she asked with a pout.

"Nah," he said. Then he bent his head toward hers, kissing her. It was a lingering kiss, but he pulled it away far too quickly for Rory's needs. "How's that?"

She pressed her lips together, still tasting Dean on them. "Well, that's a start," she said. "Now, come on. Let's go eat."

"Normally, I'd still want to know what was behind all this," Dean said. "But I admit. I'm starving tonight."

Rory laughed. "I think I know the feeling," she agreed. Then she stood, holding her hands out gallantly. "After you."

He stood, eyeing her with a mixture of wonder and amusement. "Yes, master," he said.

Rory certainly did like the sound of that. And she hoped Dean would still be saying that when dinner was nothing more than an afterthought for both of them.

-o-

Dinner was...

Tasty? Perfect? Sweet? Cute? Fun?

Maybe, for Dean. For Rory? Dinner was just _slow_.

Dean had been the ever-dutiful boyfriend. He savored every bite, complimented her five times on every course. He was effusive and adorable and told her funny stories about the customers he'd had in the store that day. He played footsie with her, and keenly ignored her hand every time it ventured further up his thigh.

Needless to say, he really wasn't getting the hint. This was going to be harder than she thought. He was going to make her spell it out in very graphic detail.

But fortunately, she was all too ready to oblige. And she did have one more trick up her sleeve.

Dessert.

"Wow," Dean said, rubbing his stomach. "That was...amazing. I had no idea you could cook so well."

"Well, I've just never been so motivated," Rory told him truthfully. Because honestly, she barely remembered the cooking. She couldn't even remember what it tasted like. Had it been chicken or beef in the end and what were those potatoes called that went in with the meat all day?

Who knew? Who cared? Besides Dean, anyway, and right then, she wasn't really concerned with what Dean thought he wanted.

One week of unrequited passion and she was actually turning into a harlot. Dean needed to get this over with and make a decent woman of her once again before she burned up from the inside out.

Dean grinned, clearly oblivious to her maniacal planning. "Well, Miss Motivated. Why don't you go out and find something on TV while I clean up for us?"

The offer in and of itself was actually ridiculously sweet. The stuff that most women would be giddy to hear. Part of her wondered if she was missing the point, but then she remembered how she'd felt _all week_.

It wasn't her point to miss. So, no. Neither of them would be doing dishes. Not tonight. Not anytime soon. Not if Rory had planned this as well as she thought she had. And considering her checklists, her pro/con lists, her pure _need_, she had planned this basically down to the last detail. "But we haven't had dessert yet," she said.

"There's dessert?" Dean asked. Oh, so innocently. Too innocently.

She was not to blame if her smile was predatory. "Peach cobbler."

"You made peach cobbler?" he asked, just like a mouse blinking in wonder up at a snake.

She grinned, more at her mental use of simile than anything else. "You like it?"

"Like it? I _love _it," he said enthusiastically.

"Perfect," she said, and it was perfect. The night, the food, the ambiance. Rory, Dean. _Everything_. She had thought the pinnacle of her life was Yale, the campaign trail, the Detroit Free Press. Maybe the Gazette. But those accomplishments all paled in comparison to this moment. "Now. Why don't you go on to the bedroom and I'll be there in a minute."

His brow furrowed. "The bedroom?"

She tried to act nonchalant. "It's more intimate," she said.

"You don't want to watch TV?" he asked.

She contained her frustration. He was sweet, adorable, hot, and responsible. With all of that going for him, she would have to forgive that he was a little dense sometimes. Though it did make the seduction all the sweeter, right? "Just trust me, okay?" she asked.

He hesitated, but then he nodded, obedient if uncertain. It really was like a bad romance novel, which was okay with her as long as it ended up just like the whole genre that she almost refused to admit she'd ever read.

"Okay," she said, smiling broadly. "I promise. I'll just be a minute."

He nodded, turning and moving with clear confusion to the bedroom. He opened the door and paused, looking back at her.

"It's okay, I promise," she assured him. He would understand soon enough. "Make yourself comfortable. Maybe start a book."

He didn't look overly reassured, but he went in anyway.

Which was Rory's chance.

Fortunately, she already had the pie on plates, which was a smart move because she was shaking so hard that she wasn't sure she would have been able to slice it at the moment. Fumbling with her dress, she pulled it off over her head, letting it drop to the floor. She straightened her lingerie, not letting herself think about how forward it was.

Of course it was forward. That was the point. If Dean wasn't picking up on subtle, she'd force the issue. It was a good issue to force, wasn't it? Dean loved her, she loved him. This was good. This would be very good. For both of them.

Looking down at herself, a surge of excitement and nervousness swept through her. All that waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. She'd planned, she'd perfected. She'd talked to everyone. She'd gotten advice. She'd done everything right. She'd won a place in Dean's life and now she was going to get the rest of the package, too.

It was all going to pay off. Her week of pining; it would be worth it.

Carefully, she picked up the plates, walking carefully toward the bedroom. No turning back, now. Not that she wanted to. Rory was always sure of what she wanted, goal-oriented and determined. And she always prevailed. At least, those were the things she let herself remember.

With one last breath, she went inside.

Dean was seated on the chair, half buried in Rory's stuffed animals. He was examining Colonel Clucker when he looked up.

And very nearly freaked out.

For a second, he just froze. Eyes wide, a little terrified, face pale.

For that moment, Rory worried she might have sent him into shock or something. Or worse, triggered his ulcer. What if her aggressive attempt to satisfy her own needs killed him?

But he blinked. Once, twice, face flushing red.

She let out her breath, trying to smile with a certainty she suddenly no longer felt.

Abruptly, he stood up, turning around toward the window, a hand over his eyes. "Rory, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice noticeably strained.

So he was just overwhelmed. He was the innocent man. She was the sultry seductress. She'd watched _Moulin Rouge_. If Nicole Kidman could pull it off in an elephant, she could pull it off here.

"Bringing you dessert," she said as innocently as possible. She walked closer to him, her confidence returning. If she needed this, so did Dean. She was doing them both a favor.

He turned around briefly, before turning abruptly back again. "In _that_?" he asked, sounding more like teenager in puberty than a full-grown man.

She laughed easily. "Well it's part of your dessert silly," she said. She held out the pie. "Do you want a bite?"

He flinched.

"Of the pie, I meant," she said. "To start with anyway."

He took to pacing, glancing at her every so often with jerky head movements. "Rory, I think you should go put your clothes back on."

She put down the plates on her desk, moving closer to him. This wasn't about peach cobbler anyway, and now at least all the cards were on the table and Rory was going to take the pot. "I think you might be more comfortable with yours off, too," she said.

"No, no, no," he said quickly. "Really. I mean-"

She shushed him, pulling his arm to stop him.

To her relief, he obeyed, allowing himself to face her. She moved even closer, until their bodies were touching. She ran her fingers under his shirt, feeling their way up his stomach toward his chest.

He closed his eyes with a muffled groan.

She moved her finger down, toward his pants. Feeling for his belt, she pulled it out, unhooking it.

Dean exhaled deeply, his body caving to meet hers almost unconsciously. With no resistance, Rory pushed back, pressing their bodies together and fumbling with the button on his pants.

It was easier than she expected, and the pants loosened, falling away from Dean's slim waist easily.

His dropped his head against hers, his breath hot against her, just like she remembered. "Rory," he moaned, and his hands fluttered on her shoulders before finally settling, long fingers tracing the edge of her bra.

It was almost too much. Rory surged up, pressing her lips against his, pulling his head down with force as they kissed. Her other hand played with the hem of his underwear, venturing downward.

Then, abruptly, Dean stiffened. "No," he said. Then he pulled back, turning away almost desperately. "No, no, no."

He was saying _no_. He was saying _no_.

How could he be saying no? Why would he be saying no? Was he really saying no?

Her face went red, embarrassed and frustrated, and tears pricked at her eyes. "What?" she asked, feeling almost unhinged by it all. She was doing it all right. She'd done _everything right_. She was Rory Gilmore, seductress extraordinaire. "Why not?"

He looked at her, bent over a little, eyes pleading. "Rory, _no_," he said. "I. We can't."

She rushed toward him again, shaking her head. "We can," she said, believing that she could believe it enough for both of them.

He took a rallying breath, shaking his head. "No, we can't," he said. "I mean. Can we just talk about this? I mean, before we do this, shouldn't we talk?"

"We've talked all night," Rory argued. "We've talked from the second I got back to town. Enough with talking." Because all the talking was making her one fry short of a Happy Meal and the fries were the best part of a freakin' Happy Meal. Without the fries, it wasn't even so happy, and a Happy Meal without the Happy just didn't make sense.

His face was almost pained. "But we haven't talked about _this_."

He was serious. And insane. And yes, seriously insane and insanely serious. He was the one missing the fries in the Happy Meal. Not to mention the burger, drink, and even the little toy.

He closed his eyes, licking his lips. "Please, Rory," he said. Then he looked at her again. "Just. Can we please talk about this?"

It took all of her self-control and some she didn't know she had. Woodenly, she nodded, her body almost too numb to do anything else.

He swallowed. "Maybe a bit more dressed," he suggested.

Rory jaw locked and she turned uncomfortably and picked up her robe. He wanted her dressed. All this and he wanted her dressed.

What did that even mean? Was it possible that he was gay? Was it possible that she was gay? Was it possible that she had fallen into an alternate universe again? One much more cruel than Friday Night Dinner with sex tales?

Slipping the robe on, she made a point of tying it before turning back around. She found Dean redoing his belt, visibly shaking.

At least that was a feeling she understood at the moment, because she didn't understand anything else.

He took a moment, composing himself, before he looked back up her. Moving over to her, he took her hands in his in a very gentlemanly gesure. "Rory," he said, starting off slowly and evenly. "Is..._this_ what's been bothering you all week?"

She gave a snort. "So you were picking up on the hints," she muttered. Maybe her mother had been right about the eunuch thing.

He winced a little, squeezing her hands for a moment. "But maybe you weren't picking up on mine," he said.

What hints? That he wasn't into her like that? That he wanted to be with her but not make love to her? That she was suddenly an unattractive, asexual woman?

Her voice was rough when she spoke. "What, that you're suddenly not attracted to me?" she asked, feeling more than a bit sulky. To get so far and be rebuffed? It wasn't just frustrating. It was mortifying.

She was a ridiculous mess. She'd made a fool of herself and for what? To ruin what they had? To realize that it wasn't going anywhere?

"Rory, no," he said. He leaned down, trying to catch her eye. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, she did, even though she didn't want to. It hurt too much, everything hurt too much. But when she looked up, she could see that his face was soft and sincere.

"That's not it at all," he said. "I think you're amazing. Gorgeous. The best girlfriend in the world."

He meant it. She knew he meant it. He wasn't a good liar, but he was awesome at telling the truth. Which just made this all the more confusing. It was what she wanted to hear, but not everything she needed. "So why won't you have sex with me?" she finally asked, flat out.

His shoulders fell. He ran a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you just ask me before?" Dean asked, his brow creased seriously.

Because she was neurotic, insane, and in the throngs of sexual need. Such contexts did not lend themselves to rational thought. She winced. "Because I didn't want to know why," she said. "I just wanted to fix it."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "By planning a seduction?"

"It seemed very Nora Roberts," she said, with an apologetic tone.

"You've read Nora Roberts?"

"What haven't I read?"

He seemed to accept that. He swallowed, nodding before looking at her steadily. "I'm not avoiding having sex with you to hurt you," he said.

"But you are avoiding having sex with me?"

He sighed. Then he reached out, taking her gently by the arm and settling her on her bed, which she had wanted, but she had hoped it would be with a lot more passion and a lot less clothing. "Rory, listen," he said, sitting slightly away from her. "I love you very much."

"And I love you," she said, scooting closer to him, a hand reaching out, lingering on his arm.

He pet her arm, stilling it. "And I'm very attracted to you," he said.

She leaned even further forward. "And I'm very attracted to you," she said, feeling herself flush again.

Carefully, he eased back. "Rory, you have to let me finish," he said.

"We can finish later," she said.

"No, I think we need to talk about this now," he said.

She sighed, sinking back and letting her shoulders slump. "Talk about what?"

"About why I don't think we should have sex."

Her eyes went wide, her back straightening in shock, shaking her head. "There is no reason we shouldn't have sex!"

"But-there is," he said. "I just...I've thought a lot about this."

"Thinking? Thinking is bad," she said. "Very, very bad."

He shook his head. "No, Rory, _listen_," he said, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. "I need you to focus."

She stilled, even though every fiber in her being was screaming to tackle Dean backward onto the sheets. He may have been gigantic, but she would have the element of surprise on her side. She might be able to rip off his button up shirt before he had a chance to think and fend her off.

He was staring at her intently. "We've been here before," he said.

She nodded. "So why not go there again?" she asked, running a hand up his arm.

At that, he laughed, incredulously, pulling back and standing. "Because it was a _disaster _last time," he said. "It was the worst mistake I ever made."

And that stopped Rory dead in her tracks, powerful enough even to still her throbbing libido. She cocked her head. "What?"

"Rory, last time, I almost ruined _both_ our lives. And Lindsay's. I mean, it's not that it wasn't _good_, okay?" he said, sitting next to her again and looking at her imploringly. "But the timing-it was all wrong-and because I couldn't wait to do it _right_, I screwed up our first time. I just...I don't want to put the cart ahead of the horse again, you know?"

She just stared at him.

He looked apologetic. "It's not that I don't want it," he continued. "Because, Rory, I do. I really do. But I want our relationship to last more than I want to satisfy our physical desires. I love you more than that."

And, just like that, it made sense. All of it. And her mother had been right, damn it. She should have just asked. If she'd just asked, she could have spared herself this week of torture.

She'd known Dean had changed. She'd known Dean had overcome his guilt. But she hadn't realized just how much. Of course he didn't want to give in. Sex had been their downfall. It had been one of her biggest mistakes, too. But it was a mistake she'd conveniently left in her past, a dirty little secret that came out when she was drunk and sharing skeletons to impress her friends.

But, for Dean, it had been so much more. Life-altering, encompassing. For him, it had changed everything, been the formative experience to shape his adulthood. It only made sense that he would be wary of giving in again. Even if the situations were different, even if it was _okay _now, Dean wanted more for them. It wasn't about sex for him

The last week aside, it wasn't about sex for Rory either.

She sighed.

He looked nervous. "Say something," he said.

She sighed again, looking at him. Looking at more than the fine sculpting of his body, the sharpness of his features, the soft curl of his hair. Looking at _him_: his gentle nature, his devoted concern.

"Rory?"

"You are so amazing," she said, smiling in awe. Because he _was_ amazing, hands down, plain and simple. She had never known someone _that_ amazing. "I can't believe you're mine."

He looked perplexed for a second. "What?"

She smiled, moving her hand to his face, touching his skin softly. "You are so amazing," she said again. "Here I've been, thinking with my downstairs brain and you're thinking about what's best for _us_."

"But I should have told you," he said. "I just...I thought we could see where it went."

"Well, wherever it goes," she said. "I'm just glad we're going there together."

A grin split his face and he leaned forward, kissing her. It was full and deep, and fire spread through her, but as he pulled away, she let the urge pass. She looked up at him. "I love you," she said.

"And I love you," he said.

She leaned forward, kissing him again. Pulling away, she sighed. "So," she said. "Now that I'm on board with this non-sex thing, I just have to ask just how long we're thinking?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't really know."

"Like a month? Weeks? We have to be going steady? Maybe if I get RG + DF tattooed across my forehead. I would even wear your blood around my neck in a vial, but that might be a little too Angelina Jolie, the freak years."

He laughed. "I was thinking we'd just play it by ear."

"Honestly, that's not really the part of the body I'd like to play it by," she said.

"Rory Gilmore," he said, with a smile. "You have a dirty mind."

She leaned in, trailing her finger on his ear before kissing him once. "Well, I apparently have to take it where I can get it."

He laughed a little, kissing her back, a little longer, a hint of tongue. "Just don't look too far," he said.

She raised her eyebrows demurely. "Then you better stick around," she murmured, kissing him again, but slower this time. The kiss was open-mouthed and hot and her body ached with it. Then Dean pulled her closer, cupping her head and pulling her around until she was on his lap. His hips raised and she moaned.

Then, he stopped.

She sat there, eyes closed, mouth open.

"Rory," he whispered.

She nodded. "You sure you don't want to rethink this?" she asked.

He nodded. "Just give me a minute."

"Give me five."

"I may need a shower," Dean said.

"I may need one first."

Dean laughed, short and hard. "I'm just full of great ideas tonight, huh?"

At that, Rory looked at him. His faced was flushed, and for a second, she knew she could have him if she really wanted him. It wouldn't take much to push him beyond the point of no return.

But he was right. He had a habit of that these days. About them. About waiting.

This was worth waiting for.

_They _were worth waiting for.

She smiled, sliding off him. "You go first," she said. "Towels are in the hall closet."

He hesitated a moment, before licking his lips and smiling at her. "I love you," he said.

And that-right there-was the reason why. Better than doing her own laundry, better than coffee in the morning, better than _sex_-was the love of a good man. "I love you, too," she said.

"You know," Dean said, as he stood up. "This whole thing was pretty elaborate. I'm kind of flattered."

Rory made a sound of dismissal. "You should see what I do for my mother when she puts coffee on in the morning."

"Someday I'd like to," he told her.

She nodded, pleased with the notion. "And someday you will."

"That's something I'll hold you to."

"I'm counting on it," she said.

He grinned, nodding a bit again as he stepped into the hall. She heard him open the bathroom door, closing it behind him with a snick. It took a moment before the water ran and the shower kicked on.

Rory flopped back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She still felt hot and flushed, but it was abating again, this time, for real. She knew the reasons, and while they didn't make it all go away, it made it easier.

She thought of Dean, stripping his clothes. She thought of Dean's boxer-briefs on the floor and the color of his skin under the flow of the water.

She sighed, closing her eyes. _Oh, Dean_, she thought. _I'm definitely counting on it._


End file.
